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Leon Dec 2018
.  The faucet is left open
seconds of water left running
while we sleep

    the winds all tap on the window
they lay themselves out along the glass
to cover her **** nakedness
while we sleep

    smoke and frost look too alike
so why does one stay while the other
simply flies

   where do you run
to the guillotine?
you’ve no one to execute
though you are the queen

  you bury your hands into the horizon
between pain and bliss
the ladder is falling
it fits in your wrist
the second poem of the first installment of short spontaneously written strings of words. happy new year xo.
Leon Dec 2018
11:10
too much space
too much noise
an infinity of voids
till her ears grip my voice

there’s a song
that you sang
but these gowns shimmer with pasts
right and wrongs
all that falls
a Mass offered all he has

Their hearts beat, so does she
a fateless amalgam she
spent too long on a syllable
too short on all that’s miserable

Their love ran cold, so did her blood
and it’s not the snow, it’s not the puddle
from wilted floors of heaven’s doors
the first poem in the first installment of short spontaneously written strings of words
Leon Dec 2018
You knew what perfection tasted like
as if you’ve molded limbs in a soulful dance
or bathed in each other’s voices in song

You knew what iniquity smelled like
the sickening sweet scent
from whenever your finger bones ran
graciously along her hair like the waves rushed to meet the shore

And through either you created me:
a strong bitter abyss that looks too much like heaven
drowned deep into the naked ***** of the eye

If you had not laid your flesh like a crown around my throne,
their tongues would not have craved for even a single crystal of you
you who slips carelessly pretty upon the seas

Our amalgamation was never meant to be candid
no melange with our imprints meant to stand the kisses of the sea
our collisions orchestrate an ecstacy, one that morphs with my solitude.
Leon Dec 2018
If every human that passed our hearts
left behind little seeds

And watered them every return
and graced them with charming deeds,

If they went out of their way every time
and brought some drips of sun

If they stayed through the pale moonlight
and shielded them from every storm,

If they spoke with them each visit
or sang them melodies


I wonder how tall those plants would grow
before their person leaves...
Leon Dec 2018
Art was religion’s enemy, but nobody knew it.
Ignorance’s persecution and deception’s excommunication
are invisible marks stamped onto every wooden pallete.

What with the saints’ every feature executed with the finest human touches,
it’s divinity could not be more countoured and highlighted.
The bold kisses of sunlight onto the walls of the cathedrals
remind tense shoulders and pointed slippers how much they are adored by the universe..

while they, not as much so.

God’s fingerprints are engraved onto every human brain
for the mind is powerful enough to imagine
vast forests and fine cloth,
sweet wine and golden crusts of bread,
cherry lips and tamed silver hairs,
the softest pillows for varnished beds,
herds of sheep and gallops of mares.

The artist is glorified, admired and lusted for the deceptions it’s brushes could print onto textured paper.
Perhaps heaven’s mess sent graciously upon wiked ground,
unfertile for carrying the growth of who is gripping too lightly on the artist’s  border for beauty,
were the wrong tones of purple, blue, red, yellow, or brown.
Leon Dec 2018
your indifference remains as a ghost on my lips
and they sting like frosty mist
collarbones claw on the surface of my skin
as the naked air leaves it’s kiss

and the wings that once fluttered betwixt heartstrings
have slept carelessly on the ground
like strands of hair mistaken for threads of lust
parting limbs that were never meant to be bound

your teeth were glazed with honey
sugar crystals hiding the freckles on your nose
your lungs are calm and alcohol free
yet intoxication’s inevitable, my pores would hate to close
when your breath is hugging my nape so tight
and I can’t see your empty eyes
distant memory of impatience
in love with nothing but the end of the night.
when you’re so in love with someone and think they’re in love with you too until you share your first kiss and realize it wasn’t true because his lips taste like indifference and boredom lays along his gums you thought his honey would mix with your chocolate bones but he has proved you wrong

— The End —